


Time Enough

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel POV, First Kiss, Gas N Sip, Longing, M/M, Pining!Cas, Season 9, Slow Build, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three things Cas knows for sure: being cold is awful, ramen is delicious, and everything he learns about being a human makes more sense when he can talk about it with Dean.</p><p>He used to keep a mental list of the things he’d learned, turning each one over in his mind as he waited to fall asleep, a routine that relaxed him as he thought about the next time he’d see Dean and tell him his revelations.  </p><p>But the days turned into weeks and eventually the list got too long to remember, so he bought himself a notebook and started to write it all down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Enough

There are three things Cas knows for sure: being cold is awful, ramen is delicious, and everything he learns about being a human makes more sense when he can talk about it with Dean.

 

He used to keep a mental list of the things he’d learned, turning each one over in his mind as he waited to fall asleep, a routine that relaxed him as he thought about the next time he’d see Dean and tell him his revelations. 

 

But the days turned into weeks and eventually the list got too long to remember, so he bought himself a notebook and started to write it all down.

****

When Dean told him he had to leave the bunker, sending him out with money and a few supplies but no real explanation, Cas had left without questioning it.  But he hadn’t gone far, booking a room in a nearby motel.  It had been nice to have a space of his own and he’d spent his time enjoying being clean and dry and warm.  He’d rested and regained his strength and made sure to keep the cell phone Dean had given him in his pocket or beside him on the bed.  He kept it plugged in even when he knew it was fully charged and checked it over and over, waiting for a call or a text that would tell him it was time to come back.  If Dean had sent him away, there had to be a good reason and Cas would wait it out.

 

But after a week, he grew restless and unsure and after ten days he left, heading to the bus station and choosing a destination based on how quickly he could leave and how far he could go without spending all his money.

****

He’d found a job quickly because he had no pride about what sort of work he did.  The Gas n’ Sip was small and manageable (once he got the hang of the cash register and the possibly possessed Slurpee machine) and there was always something to do.  He stocked shelves and straightened displays, he reorganized the supply room so that the flow made more sense, if he wasn’t helping customers he was dusting or polishing.  These little tasks were meant to keep his mind off his exile from the brothers, but this constant occupation and industriousness impressed his boss.  Probably that was what led Nora to want to help him instead of fire him when she discovered he’d been sleeping in the back room.  Nora had a friend with a small, furnished apartment to rent, just two rooms really, in a building within walking distance of the convenience store.  It sat on the second floor, on top of a small restaurant and the rent seemed suspiciously low to Castiel, placed right at the upper edge of his budget.  When Margaret, who owned the restaurant as well, offered to throw in a free meal each day in exchange for his help washing dishes on Sundays, he knew he couldn't afford to refuse.

 

(It was when these kindnesses fell into his lap that he gave up being “Steve”.  It didn’t seem right to repay these women’s generosity with dishonesty.  And with everything else familiar gone, hearing his name spoken grounded him in a way nothing else seemed to.)

****

He didn’t have many belongings, and what he had mainly came from yard sales and thrift stores.  It always surprised him to see what people discarded: Things still in their packaging, never having been opened or things with flaws almost too small to see.  People weren’t satisfied with anything less than perfect, he supposed, but he was happy to scrape together these castoffs.  A mug for coffee, a cup for water, a single place setting of dishes that he washed as soon as he used.  He purchased a ladle and marveled at the efficient way it scooped the slippery ramen noodles into his bowl.  Dean had told him there was no nutritional value to them, but they were so cheap and filling.  He limited himself to three times a week, enjoyed examining the colorful packages and selecting different flavors.  He wrote mini reviews in his notebook until he’d tried them all and decided he liked the shrimp ones best.   

 

At the diner he worked his way methodically through the menu item-by-item, starting with the breakfast dishes.  When he got to the sandwiches, he’d try them with fries, then onion rings, then a salad each day until he’d tried all the different dressings.  For the most part, he found he wasn’t a picky eater but there were a few things he couldn’t stomach.

 

_I don’t understand why people put raisins on things.  They look like dead flies and they taste like wrinkles._

_Tomatoes are horrifying to look at and touching one makes me shudder.  I’ve tried every single thing on the menu, but I can’t bring myself to put a slice of raw tomato anywhere near my mouth._

 ****

He got himself a library card and approached the books the same way he did food, starting with non-fiction.   The very first section was numbered 000 and labeled _Generalities_ and that seemed a fitting place to start.  He chose books from each section, drawn towards older, dustier volumes, the ones that might have languished on the shelf untouched otherwise and he felt good about giving them a change of scenery as he carried them back to his apartment.  Reading, like washing dishes or stocking shelves, was good too; it kept his mind from drifting.  

****

He knew there must be a good reason for Dean to have sent him away.  Actually, he fluctuated between _two_ good reasons.  One, was Sam.  It was always Sam.  Keeping Sam safe was forever Dean’s top priority so maybe it had nothing at all to do with Castiel.  Maybe Sam needed all of Dean’s attention right now and he couldn’t be bothered with distractions.  Or maybe it was because Cas, with his grace gone and a target on his back, was the reason Sam was in danger.  He could find no grey area here; either it had nothing to do with Castiel or it was entirely his fault.  On a good day, when he’d slept well and kept himself busy at work, he could convince himself that it wasn’t about him.  He could remember the reluctance on Dean’s face and the softness in his voice when he’d told Cas he couldn’t stay.  He could remember the way Dean looked like he’d wanted to hug him before he left but Cas, angry and hurt, had turned and walked away.  He could convince himself that maybe Dean missed him at night, the way Cas did. 

 

He didn’t write any of that down.

****

One of the most surprising things about being human was how slowly time passed.  As an angel, he was never bored.  He could flit to any place or time that caught his fancy, but now each minute, each hour, each day passed at exactly the same pace.  Whether you were breathless with anticipation or cold with dread, the time you had to wait came with no variation.  Perhaps some people found this predictability soothing, but Cas found it endlessly frustrating.  In any given day, there were _so many hours_ to get through.  He understands now why people drink.  He’d tried it one night alone in his apartment to see if it really would change the passage of time and it did, letting the darkest hours of the night disappear while he lay unconscious.  But first he’d had to use every last bit of his self-control not to call Dean and then he’d smashed his favorite—and only—coffee mug.   And the aftermath: the pounding headache, the insatiable thirst, the feeling like his entire digestive system has been scraped raw.  The relentless misery he felt while hung-over was a poor trade for any hours he’d missed the night before.  He wondered if it was like this for Dean, all those times Cas took off to attend to heavenly business.  For Castiel, those were quick trips full of purpose and action and he’d never before stopped to think about what it was like for Dean to be left behind, not knowing where he was or if he’d return, with nothing more than time ticking away in its unending regularity.

 

He didn’t write down any of this either, only _Vomiting is the most unpleasant physical experience yet._

_****_

When he was riding busses to get to Rexford, he noticed that people often left the seat next to him empty.  Even when the bus was nearing capacity, the seat next to him was often the last to fill.  He wondered if it was something about him that kept people away.  Cas surreptitiously sniffed his clothing.  He thought it was clean, but maybe you couldn’t tell on yourself?  Dean would know.  Dean would tell him to stop scowling and staring, that it made people uncomfortable. Either way, he was surprised when a large woman in a stretchy floral dress sat next to him on the last leg of his trip; there were many seats still open.  After making brief conversation about their destinations, he tried to make himself small, to make room for her in the shared space.  He quickly realized this was a pointless task, no matter what he did some part of her was touching him, her shoulder against his upper arm, her thigh alongside his.  He gave up trying to make room and simply sat still as she pulled a Bible out of her handbag.  He suppressed a smile and tried not to read over her shoulder (Dean hated that) but couldn’t help glancing over to see which parts she chose as she flipped through it.  He realized that the inadvertent touch of this stranger’s body was warming his own, relaxing him until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, more restful than he’d had in days.  He would’ve missed his stop had she not gently shaken his shoulder as his town approached.  He blinked at her before remembering to say thank you.  He grabbed his one small bag and stepped off the bus into the cold air.

****

His dreams are almost always the same, although the settings differ.  One night he is on a small boat clinging to anything sturdy as the raging sea tears it out from under him.  One night he is in a labyrinth of darkened tunnels, fumbling his way blindly along damp stone walls.  Sometimes he is searching, moving against a sea of humanity, checking every face, pushing people away in his need to find just one.   He doesn’t need to visit the _100s Philosophy and Psychology_ section of the library to interpret these dreams.  Always searching, always desperate, always alone. He wakes from them in a cold sweat, his blankets tangled around his legs.  He stares at the ceiling, at the predictable shadows made by the streetlight outside his window and waits for his breathing to slow.  He thinks back to that day on the bus, the sweet rest he’d found with the warmth of a stranger pressed against the very edge of him and he wonders if this is why humans spend so much time trying to connect to others.   He thinks of the way Margaret talks about her late husband saying her house just isn’t the same without another heartbeat there.  He’s quite sure he wouldn’t dream of being alone if he didn’t sleep alone.  Idly he wonders if a cat might serve the same purpose.

 

_I think I might like to have a cat_ , he writes. 

 

One night he dreams of Dean.  In his dream they are driving in the Impala, music blaring, sun shining.  He can look to his left and see Dean, fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the music.  Cas stares and stares even though he knows Dean will roll his eyes at him, but he can’t get enough of seeing him so happy, seeing him _there_.  Cas wants to touch him but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.  He's balling his hands into loose fists, resisting the urge to reach across the space between them, when Dean turns to him and graces him with a genuine smile, a smile that makes the sun dim in comparison.  “I know,” says Dean as he reaches and takes Cas’ hand in his.

 

Cas feels the dream begin to slip away and frantically tries to will himself back into it. Unlike the nightmares that resume each time he closes his eyes, he can’t recapture this one.  The next night he does everything he can think of to replicate the circumstances that spawned the dream, even eating the exact same food and re-reading the same part of his book.  He tries lying in the same position and replaying it over and over to immerse himself, but his brain won’t cooperate and that night he dreams only of wings scorched into golden fields of grain. 

****

Slowly he finds his days filling with his new routines.  Working at the Gas n’ Sip he begins to recognize regular customers and greet them when they enter for their morning coffee or a cold soda and a candy bar to get them through the afternoon. 

 

They are friendly to him and he has many conversations about the weather  (“Looks like it might snow.”  “Stay warm.”  “You, too!”) and about the day of the week.  (“Thank God it’s Friday!”  “Finally hump day.”  “Man, I hate Mondays.”) and Cas learns to respond with the appropriate emotions.

 

_Wednesday is called hump day because it‘s the last barrier before the downhill slide to the weekend._

 

He writes in his notebook about the young mother who comes in each day with her son who is maybe three years old and rides in a stroller.  They stop by in the afternoon on their way to picking up his older brother from school.  The woman unstraps the little boy and lifts him up so he can choose two lollipops from the plastic jar.  Each time he digs through with his little hands choosing just the right one for his brother, then one for himself.  Each day his mother gives him two quarters to hand to Cas and each day Cas takes them and says “Thank you” to the little boy who generally says “Thank you!” brightly back to him.  Sometimes the coins are sticky with peanut butter or crushed banana, but Cas finds he doesn’t mind.  He looks forward to this moment even though it takes up less than five minutes of his day.  

****

It’s not that he thinks about Dean any less, but twice now he’s forgotten to bring his phone with him to work and once he’s let the battery completely die and not realized it for three hours.  

****

He’s just finished his daily lollipop transaction, wiping his fingers on his blue vest, when he hears the chime that signals the door opening.  Glancing up, he sees Dean standing in the doorway.  His first instinct is to run, but whether to him or out the back door, he isn’t sure.  This is the moment he’s pictured for the seventeen weeks and four days since he last saw Dean, but now that he’s here, Cas mostly feels wary.  He looks down at the counter, taking his time replacing the bin of lollipops to its proper spot at the side of the register.  When he looks up again, Dean is standing across the counter, directly in front of him.

 

 Dean looks so happy, so pleased to have found him.  He’s so unaware of how guarded Cas feels that for a moment Cas flashes back to the edge of the water in Purgatory.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I was in the neighborhood.” Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal that he’s turned up out of the blue.

 

“You were?”

 

“Nope.”  He smiles again.  “Just thought I’d check in and see how you were doing.”

 

Cas takes his phone from his pocket and sets it on the counter between them. 

 

“You could’ve called.”  Cas gestures to the towering sign outside the store.  “Gas is rather expensive these days.”

 

Dean’s smile fades and he begins to shift his weight from foot to foot as Nora approaches. 

 

“Everything ok here?”

 

Cas tucks his phone back in his pocket and tears his gaze away from Dean. 

  
“Yes, it’s fine.   Nora, this is an old friend of mine, Dean.  Dean, this is Nora, she’s my boss—and my friend.”  It comes out a bit more defiantly than he’s intended, but it doesn’t sit right with him, the way Dean just shows up and makes him feel uncomfortable in his own convenience store.

 

Dean and Nora exchange pleasantries and after a reassuring nod from Cas, Nora moves to another part of the store.

 

“So, you got time to talk?”  Dean nods and takes a step towards the door, towards the Impala parked out front.

 

“I’m here until 7:00.”  It’s just past 2:30 now.

 

“Can’t you tell her you need to leave early?”  Cas doesn’t like the way Dean refers to Nora as “her” and he certainly won’t be shirking his responsibilities. 

 

“Why would I do that?  This is my job.  I’m not going to inconvenience Nora.  I can meet you for dinner at 7:30.”  He gives Dean the address of Margaret’s diner and waits silently for him to leave.  

 ****

At 7:30, Dean and Cas are sitting in his regular booth.  Margaret comes over to hand them menus.  “Hiya Cas,” she says warmly, “and this must be Dean.”  She gives Dean a bright smile and Cas in unsurprised that news of his visitor has traveled so quickly.  Nonetheless, it’s disconcerting to see Dean here, interacting with these people and invading this space Cas has carved out for himself.

 

“I guess you’re a regular here,” says Dean.  “So, what’s good?”

 

Cas thinks about the two paragraphs he wrote in his notebook outlining the similarities and differences between burgers and meatloaf sandwiches.   He sighs and tells Dean, “You’d like the meatloaf sandwich.”   He’d meant to say _The meatloaf sandwich is good_ and he ponders the distinct difference between these two sentences.

 

The food is good but the space between them is so strained and awkward that Cas can barely finish his own meal.  This should be the happiest day he’s had but nothing feels right.  The padded seat beneath him, the fork in his hand, even his own skin.  All of it's uncomfortable and tight and clumsy. 

 

When it’s time to pay, Dean insists on picking up the bill and Cas has to explain why there’s no charge for his food.  At the register, Margaret hands Cas a bag of donuts she’s taken from the domed tray.  It’s getting late and Cas knows she’ll just have to pitch them otherwise. 

 

“Here, you can take these upstairs.”  Cas thanks her with a tight smile.

 

 They step outside and Dean asks, “What’s upstairs?”

 

Cas sighs.  “My apartment.”  Dean’s eyes widen. 

 

“Oh yeah?  Can I see it?”

 

Cas walks him around the corner and unlocks the outer door.  He leads him up the steep and narrow stairway before unlocking the second door that opens to his rooms.  It's not much, but Dean compliments everything he sees until Cas starts to feel a little self-conscious.

 

“So, you’re pretty settled here, huh?” Dean asks and it feels like a trick question. 

Cas looks around, trying to see it through Dean’s eyes, then says simply, "I suppose so."  Dean nods, more to himself than to Cas. 

 

“Well, then, I just wanted to check and see how you were doing.   And now I know.  So…good for you, Cas.  I know it wasn’t easy but you’ve done really well for yourself.”  He thrusts his hands into his coat pockets and Cas knows, knows as well as he’s ever known anything, that Dean is preparing to leave. 

 

“It would be unsafe for you to drive back tonight.”

 

Dean just shrugs.

 

“You’re welcome to stay here.  I have an extra blanket and the couch is comfortable.” Cas knows that from the many times he’d tried to fall asleep to the sound of the TV.  But a voice over a speaker isn’t the same as another heartbeat in the house.

 

Dean considers the offer for a long moment, his eyes moving around the small room, looking anywhere but at Cas before he nods.

 

“Yeah, ok.  Thanks.”  He walks towards the door.  “I’ve got some stuff in the car.”

 

“Here,” Cas quickly hands him the key to the bottom door so that he can let himself back into the building but also to prevent against him getting in the Impala and driving away.  Even so, Cas stands at the window watching, sees Dean open the trunk and then stand there with his hands in his pockets.  He pulls Cas’ key out and studies it, turning it over and over in his hand before closing it in his fist.  He pulls out his bag, closes the trunk, and turns back to the door.  Cas lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

****

Cas offers Dean use of the bathroom first and goes to take the soft, worn comforter from his bed leaving himself with the scratchy blanket.  He places it on the couch and takes his turn in the bathroom.  He stands in front of the sink letting cool water run over his wrists and he wonders why having Dean here feels worse than being alone. 

****

Dean is standing by the window when Cas comes out of the bathroom.  He turns, just a glance really, to acknowledge Cas is there, then refocuses on the darkness outside.

 

 “I think I made a mistake by coming here.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“You’ve seemed pissed since I got here.”

 

“You took me by surprise.  I thought I’d hear from you first before you simply showed up.  That I’d have time to prepare.”

 

“Prepare for what?”

 

Cas says nothing.

 

“I didn’t call or text because I didn’t know if you’d even answer.  Even if you did, I figured it would be to tell me to fuck off.” Dean turns to look at him now.  “I sent you away, Cas, with no good explanation.  I just threw you out when you were at your lowest.  But I get here and I see how much you’ve accomplished.  You’ve got a job, and friends, and a life.  Hell, you’ve even got your own apartment…that’s something I never managed.  You’ve got this figured out.  I don’t belong here.  ”

 

“ _You_ don’t belong here?  Dean, I’m an ex-angel of the Lord working at a Gas n’ Sip.”  Dean has the decency to laugh softly at that. 

 

Cas sits down on the couch and motions for Dean to sit next to him.

 

“I knew you must have had good reason to tell me to go, so I left.  I came here and I did what I needed to do to survive.  Somehow these other…things… happened.  I made friends and I created a home for myself.”  He sees Dean square his shoulders, sure that Cas is confirming all Dean has seen for himself.  “But, Dean.  All of this was merely a way to fill time until I could come back.  Come back to the bunker and you and Sam.”  _Come back to you_. 

 

“Is it still?  Just a way to fill time?”

 

Cas looks around the small space, knowing he could easily catalog everything in it, remembering that he did, in fact, do just that in his second notebook. 

 

“It will be harder to leave than I thought.  But yes.”  He looks at Dean.  “Are you asking me to come back?”

 

“I’m asking you to come home." He pauses, rubs the back of his neck with one hand. HIs head is slightly bowed when he raises his eyes to look at Castiel. "Will you?”

 

With those words Cas feels like he's walked out of a mist and everything has come into sharp focus.  With those words Dean _fits_ in his apartment, _belongs_ right here on his couch.    The comfort of Dean’s presence washes over him replacing the urge to defend and shield his life here with a wish to include him in it instead.

 

“Of course.”  He’s surprised at how calm his voice sounds when his heart is racing in his chest.  “But I’ll need to give Nora some notice.  I believe two weeks is customary?”

 

“Absolutely.  I understand. I can’t stay here that long, but I could come back and get you in two weeks.  Would that be ok?”  He asks this in a careful, hopeful tone that’s new to Cas.   Cas realizes it's a tone that says Dean was worried about losing _him_.  He quickly reassures Dean by agreeing to the plan.

 

Dean’s bag is on the floor near the couch and now he reaches for it. 

“Ok, you’re probably going to think this is weird, because God knows I do, but while you were gone, I kept finding things I wanted to tell you about and I didn’t have a way to--” Here Castiel takes out his phone and drops it loudly on the coffee table.  “Yeah, ok, I get it.  I should’ve called.”  He smiles at Cas before continuing to dig in his bag.  “So, uh, I started to write things down.”  He pulls out a brown leather journal and holds it almost shyly to his chest.

 

“You kept a—“ Cas begins.

 

“If you call it a diary, I will set fire to it before I let you read a single word.”

 

“A journal?”

 

“Yes, let’s say a journal.”

 

Cas gets up and walks out of the room, leaving Dean to stare after him.  He returns with his two notebooks in his hand. 

 

“Are you kidding me?”  Dean takes them from Cas as he sits back down on the couch.  “You, too?”

 

Cas nods, holding the journal unopened on his lap, tracing the edges of the soft leather.  Maybe the answers to all the questions he’s asked are here, right in his hands.

 

“Do you want to read these now?” Dean asks and Cas realizes _no_ , he doesn’t.  Nothing in there is more important than the fact that Dean is here with him now. 

 

“I thought I would, but I don’t.  Not right now.”  Cas can’t stop looking at Dean, like he can make up for lost time by soaking in his nearness.  He takes a deep breath.  “I didn’t know if I’d see you again.  I know how that feels now and I’m sorry—“

 

Before he can say more, Dean places a hand on Cas’ shoulder, leaving it there for a moment before trailing it up behind his neck, gently pulling him forward into a kiss.  Cas relaxes into his touch, reaching a hand up to Dean’s face, running his thumb along the line of Dean’s jaw.  The kisses are soft and tentative, undemanding and full of apology but a shiver of want runs through Cas, a current of desperation and craving just under the surface. He pulls Dean closer untl he can feel both of their heartbeats.

 

Too soon, Dean pulls back and reaches for Cas’ hand.  He brings it to his mouth, kissing each fingertip.  “I know,” he says and Cas knows there will be time enough for all of it. 

 

 

 


End file.
